Thoughts From the Morning After

the collected thoughts from the party at the end of the world, all thrown together in a poem.

I can feel it sort of like a sick pounding in my head

My conscious

It begs and pleads for me to avoid such stupid things

But I get wrapped up in the commotion of spiked eggnog’s

And pink liquor

I’m not very good at subtle, and I’m not very good at the morning after

 

Not the walk of shame kind

The kind with a pill to kill sperm

Or a hangover so bad you can barely walk

And a strange man you thought was a ten but boy he’s just a desperate lonely

Son of a one

 

But the kind where you’ve been up all night

And the lack of sleeps getting to your brain

Which still has chemicals firing on and off from the nights good times

From friends who you think are friends

But might not actually be friends because well you brought the booze

And well it’s your house so they will respect you enough

But you know they won’t text you for weeks after

 

Either way I guess I’m a pretty good hostess

 

Is that skill even worth anything?

You throw a good party girl!

You’re just a party girl after all

But not the kind all boys have their mouths hanging out for because doll face

I’m just not that pretty

 

But I’ve heard that sadness makes you beautiful

And lonely can be choked up as mysterious

So maybe baby I’m just the right medication for you

Or maybe I’m just a strong dose of crazy

With the makes of a cat lady and the perfect imperfections on my face

After all. I’m not the marrying type

 

 Nothing is clearer with the opaque of vision

Under the influence and under the weather

Then emotions that run like paint colored water falls from the lips

Of an over emotional artist without proper skill types

F**k all these lies

I’ll tell you the truth, at least with blank red eyes

And booze on my breath

 

Too bad….

I’m not my father

But I’m definitely my father’s daughter

 

And my mom she’s the party in my veins

Pouring me like the booze spilt all over my table

                                                                      Why do I clean when I’m drunk?

Author's Note

everything here is intentional.